You're still there
by nardy
Summary: One of them is thinking


DISCLAIMER: They belong to their producers and creators.

Rating: Very low

Thanks to house Cat, my beta... thank you again...

So It's just a repost.

My very first attempt to translate one of my fic in english...

Please enjoy...

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You're here.

He was turning again and again in his bed, tangled with the bedspread and sheets.

When_ He_ wasn't here, wasn't coming back from wherever _He_ was, from the clubs, the frat parties, the skirt chasing...

He didn't sleep.

The cold light of the moon in the room didn't help him to sleep, his hearing, far sharper than usual, was on alert. Hearing the cars passing in the street, then slowing down, and then fading away from the house. None of them stopping there.

And finally, in the very early hours of the morning, he heard the soft noise of _His_ bare feet on the floor.

The scent of _His_ bath gel.

_He_ knows he isn't asleep, but never says a word. Carefully lifting the comforter, slipping into the heat, joining him, hugging him, _His_ mouth on his.

Fresh mint breath.

Kissing him senseless. Loving him passionately. Losing him in _Him_.

And his heart is stopping and beating wildly at the same time.

_He_ came back.

Again.

He won.

Against them.

Those who draw _Him_ away from his arms, those whom _He_ needs to feel like a man.

_He_ told him once that he agreed with their relationship, but _He_ won't change his routine. _He_ wasn't _" Like that"_ even if it suited him for a moment.

_He_ didn't want to become _"Like that"_

_He_ was even adding the quotation marks as he spoke of it. And he, himself was nearly seeing the italic words in front of his eyes.

He wasn't like that, but he wasn't ashamed of his need and craving for _Him_, of _His_ masculine body close to his, in his.

The need was changing slowly into a more complex feeling.

A necessity, renewed everyday, every hour more intense, more urgent, emptier without him.

He knew it wouldn't last; he contented himself with the present, and notched in his headboard, those times when _He_ came back to him, when he snuggled in the curve of _His_ body.

Revelling in _Him_.

There was nothing more painful than the thought of this time being the last one. Maybe.

Swept by life.

Their interaction during those days, full of adrenaline, in the lying hours of Life, when they didn't love each other, when they were playing their roles in the play of destiny.

In the secrecy that's suffocating him, in the hypocrisy that's consuming him, in the eyes of the others he couldn't stand to see.

_His_ eyes, he can't meet. Never cross _His_ gaze, always fixed on him.

Always answered by a sharp rebuff, never otherwise.

Digging the tomb of a love he didn't expect to feel.

He almost vomits when realisation hits him.

He loves _Him_.

It was love that kept him awake until the return of his wildcat.

His Playboy. His Don Juan. His Romeo.

His Ennis.

Believing himself to be Jack. Jack the lover. Jack the patient one. Jack the optimistic.

Jack who believed.

But he won't be waiting twenty years.

He won't waste their lives.

He'll just let go as soon as it doesn't hurt anymore, if one day it doesn't hurt anymore.

Before that, he will change the rules.

He will follow _Him_ one night and will realise _He_'s not clubbing.

_He_ sits in a pub, ordering a beer or two.

Waiting patiently. Going to a theatre, watching a movie, eating in a fast food restaurant, nursing another beer.

And heading back home.

_He_ showers to let him believe there was somebody else, brushes his teeth to remove the smell of beer, and with a thumping heart, will come back to him at last.

Without giving up to this love that consumes _him_, that carries _him _off, that makes _him_ fly up in the sky, without confessing to _himself he_ is "_like that"_.

But only a bit, and only with him.

Then_ he_ will give up, and imperceptibly _He_ will notch _Himself_ in the headboard of this bed, those nights when _He_ isn't clubbing.

Not clubbing anymore.

Those quiet mornings, mornings without the fear of it being the last of this devastating love, consuming love.

And one day, early in the morning, in his arms, _He_ will tell him those three words _He_ never expected to tell and, he, didn't expect to hear anymore.

"Love you Jethro"

He will catch his breath, a tear well hidden in the corner of his baby blue eye and he will whisper:

"Me too, Tony.

The end.

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With love 

Kisses


End file.
